Caesar’s Palace was lit up like a golden haven, and slot machines rang across the casino floor. He stumbled through the main lobby across the sculpted fountains and shiny marble floor. Approaching the elevator, he tripped over himself and stared at the ground on all fours. Feeling as if he might hurl as he struggled to get back up, gliding his shoes towards the elevator, he pressed his body up against the cold metal doors. The doors slid open with a ding, and he fell through. As his shoulder pressed against the wall of the elevator, he selected the floor of his hotel room.
He unlocked the door and barged into his dark hotel room, rushing into the bathroom and kneeling in front of the toilet. An hour passed as he emerged from the bathroom door frame, trudging across the floor and falling limp onto the bed. With his mind pulsating like a heartbeat, he struggled to close his eyes. The pain from the migraine was unbearable. He attempted to fall asleep but the pain prevented him from doing so.
He woke up to find the pain still there but more bearable, his mouth dry and his joints aching. He checked his phone to see that he had blacked out for a few hours, the time being 11:07 pm, yet no text message back from Claire. Knowing at that point that she wouldn’t respond, he faced the fact that he had lost her and she was never going to come back to him. He sat up on the side of the bed, his palms firmly gripping the edge of the mattress and his shoulders shrugged, staring down at the rug-textured mossy green floor. He recalled what Old Mike told him before, about colors, green being a representation of life and happiness. Yet, the floor's green did not seem to reflect that feeling of energy; it was stained and rough as a result of time, reflecting the room with its cold solid aura, lifeless and dreary. It was ironic, he felt like the room reflected himself. He had lost everything, his career, his friends, and his family. Now he was shrouded in darkness, his heart empty, yet full of heaviness. He opens his phone again and notices a voicemail, it was from Jamie.
“Hey buddy,” Jamie's voice broke the cold silence that filled the hotel room, “I know that you're not in the right mindset right now, especially after the accident and the news coverage and everything. But just know that I'm still here for you. I don't care that you ruined things between me and Avery. I just found out that he was cheating on me anyway. Call me back if you ever need anything, and please don't be selfish and do something stupid. Bye.” The voicemail cut off.
A sweet gesture from Jamie. He knew that Jamie always had a heart, but he didn't want to be a burden to him. Jamie needed to cope with his breakup anyway.
He checked his phone again, the time read 11:36 pm. He made up his mind, it was time. He got up and walked over to the walk-in closet of his hotel room, entering and grabbing a black metal suitcase.
“Sorry, Jamie, for being selfish,” he whispered, moving out of the closet.
He sat down on the floor, his back against the bed frame, looking out at Vegas and all of its bright blinding beauty. With the only light source for the hotel room emanating from the city, he grabbed the bottle of bourbon and glass that he kept on the bedside table. Filled the glass halfway, then took a sip. He put down his drink, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar, and laid his head down on the foamy mattress. He closed his eyes and started playing out in his head the memories of what had been of his friends, Jamie, Brian, and Claire; trying to think of ways to make it up to them, to fix what they once had, but he knew it was already too late, and he was too far gone, too far from saving. Tilting his head left towards the bedside table again, he glanced at the digital clock, its LCD screen blaring in a glowing red neon light, 11:54 pm. The bags under his eyes felt stiff and the eyes had a stinging pain as if someone was cutting onions. Lifting his head back up, turning right, and glaring at the black metal briefcase that he left on the floor. Lifting it and placing it on his lap, he entered the security code and the case clicked. He carefully cracked the lid to reveal a 9mm Glock 19. He lowered the lid slowly, looking out to the city once more.
Staring out at the city skyline, mesmerized by the golden beauty of the casino lights. Below he could hear the ambiance of the cars driving on the streets below, muffled music playing on almost every street corner. He shifted his head back down at the suitcase lifting the lid once more. He laid one hand over the barrel of the gun, his warm fingertips pressing against the cold metal. He gripped the handle of the gun and loaded the 9-millimeter rounds into the clip, slowly sliding the clip into the gun until an audible click sound was made. Little needles trickled down his spine as a small ounce of fear dreaded his mind. Looking at the clock once again, the light blaring 11:57 pm, he opened his phone one last time to see zero notifications, nothing. He looked back at Vegas, raising the gun to his temple, feeling the cold steel of the barrel up against his head, his finger over the trigger. All it would take is one swift pull and all of his issues would be gone, including himself. Remembering everyone he was hurt by and everyone he hurt because of his emotions, no one would have to endure the pain he inflicted anymore because of his own. His face was numb from the cocaine, yet he could still feel himself smiling. For once in ages, he could feel again, and this time it wasn't the mental and emotional pain he was cursed with, it felt like a sweet embrace of relief and freedom.
“Brian was right about LA, the city is always on fire.”
His pointer finger now tensed up, he turned his eyes at the clock once more, 11:59 pm, his final seconds fleeting with every breath, his heart rate began to increase, staring out into Vegas one last time, his pointer finger trembling over the trigger, squeezing his eyes, and with one swift stroke. 12 a.m.
Sambhav Chauhan is a member of the class of 2023. He is an engineering major and plans of continuing with a career in computer sciences. In his free time he enjoys making music and learning about the dark side of psychology.
This piece is a small snippet of an epilogue to a novel I am writing called Purgatory. This snippet is a cold open, Quentin Tarantino style, introducing a later part of the story at the beginning.